


Secrets, Secrets

by jb_mar



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Molly has amnesia and he's trying to cope, Sort of positive ending???, the mighty nein - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 00:39:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14249316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jb_mar/pseuds/jb_mar
Summary: Names, words, places, Mollymauk has them all, but no memories to back them up. As Molly begins to learn the context, however, the party starts to wonder how trustworthy the purple tiefling is anyway.Spoilers for Cr2 ep 13!





	Secrets, Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Just a preface, a lot of people have been taking sides recently in some kind of argument between Molly, Nott, Fjord and Beau and I just wanted to say before people started posting comments about this on the work, I'm not taking one "side" or the other, I don't even think this is really any kind of real fight, it was just an interesting idea I came up with!! Thank you all so much for stopping by and I hope you enjoy the story!
> 
> \- Jules

Sleep had never come to Molly easy. For as long as he could remember, he had trouble dozing off. Admittedly, “as long as he could remember” wasn’t a very long amount of time, but it was enough to know he wasn’t much of a sleeper. Strange images lurked behind Molly’s eyelids as he shut them for the night. Usually, Molly couldn’t remember what he saw. The only thing he knew was waking up among the sweaty bodies of the circus folk on hot summer nights, panting with the lingering terror of something just barely itching at the back of his mind. As for the voice in the back of his head, the whispers curling up his spine in the dead darkness of night, Molly had learned to ignore them. 

Yasha told him he had a tendency to talk in his sleep, muttering words undisearnable to anyone not listening close enough. Some words Molly could place. Tiefling, scimitar, snake, those were words most people would bring up if they were asked to describe Mollymauk, like a word association game with himself. Other words… Other words were difficult. Gentleman. Yasha had told him he repeated that the most, gentleman, myriad, among other shady folk. Molly didn’t consider himself a particularly shady man. Sure, he told a white lie through gritted teeth from time to time, but nothing out of the ordinary. He was a circus man, what else was he supposed to do? Every person spewed a little carnie bullshit from time to time, nothing out of the ordinary here.

Through joining the circus, Molly did what he did best. He weaved a little white lie from the strings at the edges of his mouth that pulled them into a smile. He forged the facade of Mollymauk, the fast talking, sharp as a tack fortune teller with a way of seducing all who came to him, all the while having no clue where he came from before hand.

 

At the crack of thunder, Mollymauk was up once more, particularly dazed from the seeming void he had awoken from. He shook his head, the piercings jingling like a ring of endless keys. The tiefling laid his hand over his throbbing heart, his breaths rapid. Without warning, Molly stiffened as a giant hand rested on his upper back, slowly soothing him in circles. Yasha was silent, her face stoic, not even facing the tiefling as she rubbed his back in tiny circles. As her stillness washed over him like warm soup filling a bowl, Molly realized he had been quivering, taking a moment to still his trembling hands. Both sat in their comfortable silence for what seemed like a lifetime. Reaching up, Molly wiped the sweat from his brow, shutting his eyes as he let loose a sharp sigh. The sound was almost immediately sucked back into him as his eyelids shut and behind them he saw nothing but red. A red sea of expense stretching wide across God knows what caused Mollymauk to break his concrete mold. Taking another deep breath, Molly slowly rose his nails to meet his cheek, wiping a tear forging a trail down his lavender face. “That rough, huh?” Yasha’s drumlike voice shook him to the core.

Molly sniffled, his tail curling around his knees, pulling them close to his chest. “Yasha, I-”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Yasha cut him off. “I know you, if you wanted to talk about it, you would have talked my ear off by now.”

Molly chuckled lightly at that, but there was no heart behind the exhale and he found himself fixating on rubbing his thumb over his wrist. When Molly finally steadied himself, he turned to the massive woman, a small grimace across his face. “Was I talking again?”

Yasha said nothing, but gave one sure nod. Molly tried to shrug it off, but there was something unsettling about the answer. “What did I say this time? Anything new?”  
Yasha was silent for a moment. Usually that would be natural, but something about this particular silence seemed off, like she was holding something back. “Yasha?” Molly pressed, his voice edging her on.

“You’re not going to like it.” Molly was caught off guard by the care in Yasha’s voice. “You’re going to get excited like you always do, and then get disappointed, like you always do.”

Molly didn’t really regret telling Yasha his secret. Staying silent was driving him mad afterall. He hated having to hide the fact that he had no clue where he came from, that he had a crossword puzzle worth of words floating around in his mind with no context. Yasha was a good confident. She rarely spoke, was fiercely loyal, and could snap a man in two if anyone so much as looked at Molly funny, however what he didn’t expect her to be was the least bit caring. Turns out, Molly shouldn’t have judged a book by it’s cover. “C’mon, they’re my words. It’s not fair that you get to know what I say before I do, but it’s even less fair if you don’t tell me at all.”

Yasha pursed her lips, letting out a long sigh. “It’s a name. I’ve never heard you say a name before.”

Molly’s heart nearly stopped at that. “A name?” He repeated, his eyes lighting up. Lunging for his coat rolled up neatly at his feet, his hands rummaged through the pockets, pulling a small notebook from one of them. It was a simple piece, solid brown and leather bound, the pages worn and ripped from years of fingers flipping pages. Taking a feather from his bag, Molly looked at the woman expectantly. “Tell me. I have to know, it has to be something!”

Yasha rolled her eyes at the energetic tiefling, slowly crossing one leg over the other to rest one foot on top of the next, biding her time. Molly could feel the heat rising in his body as the woman stalled, watching her stifle a yawn. “Yasha… C’mon, don’t do this to me…”

Yasha growled under her breath, looking sideways to watch the eager tiefling on his knees, journal in his lap. Her gaze softened as she did, and she swerved her head forward just as soon as it had met Molly’s eyes. “Lucien.” She spoke, picking at her nails.

Lucien. Lucien. Lucien. Molly repeated the name in his head before scrawling it down in his overly fancy hand. “Ringing any bells?” Yasha seemed genuinely curious.

“The name? Yeah. The context? Not a clue.” Molly muttered, running a hand through his sweaty purple hair. 

“Told you. That’s the answer you give me every night. Six months of watching you sleep and you’ve suddenly become predictable…” Though she did a better job at hiding it, Molly could tell she was just as disappointed as he was. 

Molly sat quietly once more, thumbing through the papers of his journal. His eyes scanned words, letters lined in bold, ink blots smudged from closing the book before letting the ink properly dry. So many words, so many pages, and no answers. He shut it, slowly sliding the little book in his back pocket before cuddling up next to Yasha. He could feel his heat and her coldness nearly creating steam in the air as the two sat together leaned up against the pole in the center of the tent. “So you really don’t think any of this is going to help then?” Molly’s tone was flat and strange.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Yasha shrugged, her head raising to examine the colorful ceiling. “And even if I did, I know that wouldn’t stop you.”

“You’ve got a point there.” Mollymauk chuckled, his tail twitching playfully.

 

Sometimes, Molly missed those days with Yasha and the circus. Everything there was bizarrely predictable, unusually mundane, peculiarly routine. With the Mighty Nein, each day was a new adventure. Something they don’t tell you when you wake up with amnesia, sometimes you’ll find you know how to do things you don’t remember learning. Picking locks was an unexpected one Molly found out about when he, Jester and Nott were bored and drunk one night. Visual art was another, and Molly would sometimes find himself leaving extra doodles in the margins of the other tiefling’s journal. Molly hadn’t expected Yasha to follow them everywhere. She was like the wind, unpredictable and rough, there one moment, gone the next, however when Molly agreed to join up with the ragtag group of wanderers he hadn’t quite taken into account his little issue. 

The first few nights had gone on without a hitch. For the first time in a long time, Molly slept soundly, lulled off by the faint humming of the human wizard as he mindlessly read, absorbed in some book or another. It wasn’t until they reached Zadash that the terrors really set in. Knives clawed at his skin, lavender mixing with crimson before his eyes. Pained, a sudden scream escaped Molly’s mouth as he pulled at chains confining him. He could hear the voice in the back of his head hissing in his ears, _Hush… It’s not so bad… Hush…_

Mollymauk lashed out as he felt a hand on his shoulder, baring his fangs like a cornered dog. His eyes a blazing red, Molly scrambled to find his scimitar before hearing a familiar drawl. “Molly! Molly, what the hell’s wrong with you?!” 

Suddenly, a loud crack sounded from nearby. With that moment, the tiefling’s vision cleared. He was no longer in some fiery hellscape, but a single, simple bedroom. Molly’s breathing hitched as he took a moment to calm himself, staring at the other before him. Fjord was an often levelheaded individual, but at the moment his face spelled out concern. The handsome half orc had both his hands on the side of Molly’s face, stroking his thumb over his cheekbone, which for some reason stung like a bitch. “Wh-What the fuck?” Molly stuttered, a smile playing at his lips. “Did you slap me?!”

Fjord’s hard face softened slightly as Molly spoke, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t know what to do, you just started freakin’ out on me, screaming all these words and I…” The way Fjord shook his head scared Molly. He had never really seen him at such a loss for words. 

Reluctantly, Molly sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “It’s alright,” He laughed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, “I’m sorry I woke you. Didn’t mean to.” His tone was nonchalaunt, hoping to brush the whole thing off as he headed for the door. “I’m going to get a drink, want something?”

Fjord took two steps and was behind him suddenly, grabbing his shoulder with a firm hand. “Hold up partner. You’re not going anywhere after that.” The half-orc steered the tiefling back towards his bed, a strong hand forcing him to sit. “You really think a drink is the best thing for you after an episode like that?”

Molly winced, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve done worse things after worse.” The tiefling gave Fjord a shit eating grin, but the half orc’s face showed nothing but business.

“Molly, what was that?” Fjord asked in a hushed tone, trying to meet Molly’s eyes that darted around.

“Is it so hard to believe that a perfectly sane man would wake up screaming in the middle of the night?” Molly could tell Fjord wasn’t in the mood to play.

“It is when that ‘perfectly sane mane’ is you. Let’s be honest, no offence but you aren’t exactly the poster child for ‘stable’” Fjord crossed his arms.

“That may be the most thoughtful compliment anyone has ever given me.” Molly bit, his eyes daring Fjord to drop the question, but Fjord wasn’t taking the bait.

“Who’s Lucien?”

With two words, Molly’s skin turned cold and his cocky facade dropped. Fjord’s serious face turned into one of regret as he watched Molly melt. “You don’t have to tell me if you aren’t comfortable with it. Just… You were screaming it, that’s all…”

There was silence for a few minutes as Molly’s tail flicked back and forth. Molly’s brain rushed at a billion miles a minute before finally settling back into a familiar old habit. The tiefling shook his head, uncharacteristically quiet for his facade. “I don’t think I can tell you that just yet, friend.” Molly eerily muttered, his red eyes flashing a warning. It wasn't meant to be a threat. It was the truth, Molly couldn’t tell the man who Lucien was because he didn’t know, but if he purposely phrased it that was so Fjord would take it as such and back off, well then that wasn’t Molly’s problem, now was it?

Fjord breathed out hot air onto Molly’s face, jaw clenched. “You don’t have to hide shit from us, you know that, right?” 

Molly licked his lips, refusing to meet the half orc’s gaze. “I know. And I’m not hiding shit. I don’t know anything, okay?” Molly said, obviously tired of the topic of conversation.

Fjord wasn’t satisfied, but it was clear he wasn’t here to pick a fight. “Okay…”

Molly turned his back to his companion as he heard his slowly begin to settle back into the bed. In his lap, Molly held the journal, jotting down the details and what Fjord had relayed to him. This journal was solid black, much less fancy than the first, but enough. Discreetly as he finished penning the last phrase, he stole a glance over his shoulder at Fjord. The man was laying in bed, his back facing him, obviously listening to the scratches of ink on paper. Molly grit his teeth, closing the book and shoving it back under his little pillow. His heart pulsed, wondering how much more he had actually said that Fjord was holding back.

 

“Hypocrite!” 

The word shot through Molly like a crossbow bolt as Nott shouted at him in the middle of the street. Molly stood almost as still as a statue, glaring down the little goblin. His fists were clenched, his eyes narrowed in on her lanky green body about twenty feet away. Caleb was at her side, arms crossed, standing tall, looking over Molly with an expectant look. Both of them were so tightly wrapped around each other’s fingers it was surprising they hadn’t popped yet. Beau and Jester stood behind Molly and he could feel their eyes digging into his back. Nott took a few steps forward, anger surging through her. Molly hadn’t considered the goblin scary before this moment, but as her yellow eyes glimmered with distaste, Molly almost found himself wanting to parry her advance with a few steps back of his own, but he held his ground. “Trust the untrustworthy people, _Lucien_ , You have to keep it outside, _Lucien_ , Cast friends on me and I’ll tell you anything you want, _Lucien_! Do you have any idea how fucking shitty that is that you’re giving us shit for wanting to take a couple of spell scrolls for ourselves, and you don’t even trust the group enough to give us your fucking real name?!” 

“Nott, that’s enough!” Fjord’s voice cut through the tension, but a cool laugh from Molly washed it away. “No, No, keep going! I’d like to see where this goes, I’m curious.” He growled, staring the little girl down.

Nott’s empty flask clattered to the ground at Caleb’s feet and from here, Molly could see the tears beginning to form in her eyes. “Just last night you and Beau were ganging up on me about how we’re the shady ones, we’re the untrustworthy ones, and now we end up at some… some old bar crawl of yours? Some criminal organization you were involved in? I don’t fucking know, but it doesn’t look very good on your part when a giant cat comes up to all of us shocked to see you alive and calling you by a different name! You can’t just stand there and lecture me on turtles and scorpions and drowning of all things when you clearly don’t even trust this group enough to give us the proper fucking time of day!”

“Keep it down!” Beau hissed from near the front of the alleyway, shifting from foot to foot. Molly could tell they’d attract attention if this turned into a full on altercation, and he knew he could take the little rogue if it came to that. Her wizard, he was another story. Even though he went down easier than a flower in the winter, that boy had a few tricks up his sleeve that could wound Molly pretty bad before he gave in. 

“Shut up, Beau.” Molly said, matter of factly as he began to draw his swords from his sides. Immediately, he heard the loading of Nott’s crossbow, Caleb’s hands erupting into flames, Fjord pulling his weapon, and he felt something sudden jam itself under his chin. Looking down, there was Beau’s wooden staff and attached to it Beau in a ready stance, threatening to whack Molly in the windpipe. “Put the swords down, Mollymauk.” Beau’s tone was laced with bitterness as she wet her lips as though she has been waiting for this opportunity for days. 

Molly scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Please, as if any of you think I’d actually hit her. Contrary to being a literal monster, I’m not actually a monster.” Molly noted as he slowly leaned down, placing his scimitars on the ground, hands coming back to behind his head. Beau followed him the whole time with her weapon, not taking her eyes off of him.

“No, but you’re a liar!” The bite behind Nott cut into Molly’s skin and he found he could barely look at her.

“Well…” He started, turning his head in attempt to figure out his phrasing, “Not technically…” 

“Not technically?” Molly couldn’t bring himself to look at Jester. Angry Molly could do. People were angry with him all the time, mostly people who took one look at him and decided to hate him because of his tiefling blood. Jester wasn’t angry. Jester was disappointed. He could see it in her eyes and in the way she refused to meet his, in the way her tail drooped, dragging against the street behind her, in the way her arms crossed, shielding her against his words. “What do you mean not technically? Because I’m pretty sure Fjord technically just told us you told him you had no idea who Lucien was, technically…” 

Molly grimaced, his nostrils flaring. “ I know, I know how this looks, but just let me explain-”

“Explain what? Explain that you’re a dick?” Nott’s jaws gnashed and suddenly Caleb stepped forward in front of her. “Nott, calm down. Let him explain himself.”

As Caleb threw himself into the mix, Nott lightened up a little, her glass gaze cutting through Molly’s hide as she crossed her arms and her ears twitched with annoyance. Molly looked over his group of friends, clearing his throat. “Well… Here’s the thing, see, it’s a long story-” He attempted to stall, but Beau pressed the staff against his jugular. “We’ve got time.”

“I…” He breathed, something about his jovial outside disappearing, “I didn’t exactly lie to you, Fjord…” He began, meeting the stare of the half orc. “I really didn’t know who Lucien was until about ten minutes ago.”

“Bullshit!” The cry of Nott was almost immediately hushed by Caleb laying a hand on her shoulder. 

“Seriously! I’m not kidding about that Friends spell, I’ll take it! I’m not lying, I didn’t know.” Beau examined his face closely, checking his eyes for any false tells.  
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Caleb butted in as Beau pulled back, looking to the rest of the group, “How could you not know your own real name?”

“He’s telling the truth.” Beau confirmed, just as confused as the rest.

Molly held his breath as the others checked him over. “I… Have you ever heard of amnesia?” 

“Isn’t that a sweet fruit salad?” Jester piped up as the group began to circle the purple tiefling in case he tried to run.

Beau blinked at her a few times, confused by her happy-go-lucky nature. “No, Jester, it’s a memory loss thing.”

“Right.” Molly nodded, careful of making any moves too fast. “Well, I don’t have that per say, I have something like it…”

Molly stopped suddenly, trying to find the words to explain. “It’s like… It’s like I have a thousand words in my head, I know the names and the words and that they’re important, I know they mean something to me, but I can never remember what they mean. It’s like shitty alphabet soup or something…”

“Lucien, we-”

“Molly.” Mollymauk corrected Fjord as he stepped forward. “There’s obviously a reason I dropped the name, even if I don’t know it. I prefer Molly.”

Fjord took a deep breath, nodding. “Molly,” He started again “We don’t really understand what you’re saying.”

Molly’s face dropped, disappointed. “No, I didn’t think you would. I don’t really either. I wish I could tell you more about it, but I just don’t understand it. There’s names in my head, places, organizations, objects, words of significance. Each should be a trigger for a memory, but they’re not. I hear Lucien and I feel nothing. I hear tabaxi and I don’t have any memories of meeting one until today. It’s like I have a bank of words and names I know should mean something to me but don’t…” He fumbled over his words, trying to find the right ones. 

As he spoke, Beau lowered the staff, moving to lean against it. “So when Fjord said you said that name once in your sleep?”

Molly nodded, reaching for his bag around his shoulder. Each member of the Nein tensed up, but Molly gave them another sign of surrender before continuing to reach for the bag. He pulled the satchel over his head, spilling ten to fifteen full journals onto the ground in front of them. Each one was different, some colorful, some functional, all filled with lines and lines of texts from Molly’s dream.

“I just shout out the trigger words in my sleep. I don’t know how to stop it or what the words mean. It’s been happening forever, ask Yasha, she’ll vouch for me.”  
Nott sneered at Molly from below his knee. “No offense, but right now I trust Yasha’s word on you just about as much as I could throw Yasha. And she’s not really around, now is she?”

Caleb tightened his grip on her shoulder, holding the little girl back from jumping up on the tiefling and attacking him. “Stop picking on Mollymauk.”

“Stop picking on Mollymauk?!” Nott practically exclaimed, grabbing Caleb’s hand and shoving it back towards him. “And how come he gets to pick on me? He’s doing the same thing!” Nott whined, her yellow teeth gnashing. 

Caleb bit his lip, eyes darting from the tiefling to the goblin before taking her hand, starting out of the alleyway. “Nott and I are going on a little walk. We’ll be back.”

“Caleb…” Fjord warned him not to go far in his tone, which Caleb nonchalauntly waved away. “We’ll be back.” Caleb repeated, this time a promise.

As the goblin and the wizard disappeared, Molly could still feel his heart pounding at his chest like an animal in a cage. He dove into his memories, trying to recall something, anything about this tabaxi man, this Gentleman. Nothing really came to him as he searched, his face growing slack with concentration before Jester’s worried tone took him out of it. “Molly?” She questioned, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You really don’t remember that man?”

Molly shook his head. “No. Nothing.”

Jester was awfully quiet, taking in that information. “Are you going to forget us too?”

Molly started to answer a quick Of course not before realizing that wasn’t something he could promise. He put his hand over his mouth, biting his thumb. “I’m not sure.” He said, not focused on Jester’s probably hurt expression. 

Fjord cleared his throat. “Are there any other identities you’d like to tell us about?”

Molly let loose a hot breath of frustration he didn’t know he had been holding. “I mean, that’s the thing, I don’t know if the names are mine or other peoples. I’ve got hundreds of names floating around in here. Assum, Teriok, Ludwig Von something or other. I did some research to see if I could figure where they came from. Those three are Tal’dorian, one is an important advisor in Emon, ones a map maker, and one’s a noble kid who’s been dead just about as long as I’ve been alive. There are names from the Empire too, I’ve got Oskar in my head for some reason, Darrington like the guy from that book, I don’t know, I just don’t know, I wish I could tell you, I-” Molly stopped talking as Fjord laid a firm hand on his back, starting to move it in circles to calm him.

“Hey. Don’t freak out, okay? We’ll help you figure this out. All of us are behind you.”

Molly raised an eyebrow at him, his gaze wandering to where Caleb and Nott had stalked off. “Somehow I highly doubt all of you are.”

“They’ll come to.” Fjord reassured him. “In the meantime, we’re going to have to work together to get you to jog that noggin of yours.” 

Mollymauk stood still for a second, letting the words run through his head over and over. “Yeah… Yeah, alright, let’s do that…” He breathed.

Beau watched over him closely as he moved to pick up his swords once more. Clearing his throat, he tried to pull back him usually cool demeanor and salvage whatever he had left of his carefree persona. The tiefling took a moment to stand tall and collect himself. He could feel Beau staring at him, and suddenly he felt the hard whack of wood against the back of his skull, not too hard, nothing malicious, but just enough to knock him off balance a little. He whipped back to see Beau, her mouth curved in a smirk that if Molly didn’t know any better, he could say it was almost out of fondness. “What’d you do that for?” Molly asked, holding back a shocked laugh.

Beau shrugged. “Thought it might help jog your memory? Got anything?”

Molly shook his head. “Nothing but a headache now.”

Beau’s eyes twinkled teasingly. “Well then. Looks like I’m just going to have to hit you a little harder next time.”

Molly watched as the monk made her way out of the alleyway, spinning the bo staff like a baton and resting it under her arm. There was something unusually light about the way she spoke that put Molly a little more at ease. Perhaps she felt bad for him. Beau didn’t really seem the type, but Molly had judged people like that before. As a large friend had taught him once before, sometimes the people with the roughest outline turned out to be the ones that cared the most. Molly chuckled to himself at the thought, collecting the last of his belongings and swinging the bag over his shoulder. He watched as Nott and Caleb rejoined the group, Nott seemingly calm, her hood up.

 

That night sleep refused to come to Molly once more. He sat up in head, back again the wall of the old inn, watching Fjord snore. There was a new journal in his lap, one Jester had given him from her own collection. It was bright blue, much like her, with a little silver lock holding it shut. Molly’s tail swished back and forth, staring down at the gift. Taking a deep breath, he opened the pristine pages, beginning to write. 

_The Mighty Nein_ , Molly wrote, his hands shaking as he began to note their journeys, their adventures, their names and characteristics. He could never be sure when he would wake up one day with no memory of his companions, Molly realized, and this time… This time he was determined to hold onto them, even if it killed him.


End file.
